Ichor
by Bellicose Blue
Summary: They already won the Games. Now they have to survive the aftermath. / On indefinite, possibly permanent, hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

Life as a Victor was easy.

Clove had all the money she could ever want and even beyond that, enough that she could keep from working for the rest of her life. If she ever tired of her ridiculously opulent home in the Victors' Village, she could spend more than a few years living lavishly among the Capitolites. She thought she'd rather prefer burning the money.

She had no job, no family, and no hobby beyond training. Once they'd returned to Two, she'd taken up the same training schedule she always had: up early and asleep late. Victors never got Reaped again, so there was nothing to train for, no reason to keep herself in shape beyond boredom and a need for structure. But she did anyway, staying at a station with Cato for days on end until they'd both mastered it.

Life with Cato was easy.

Two was known for producing the most Victors, so all the houses in the Victors' Village were filled, save one. No one, not even Lucretia with her prim Capitol manners, had protested beyond a narrow-eyed look when Clove and Cato decided to share a house. It's not like they would've won the argument, anyway, Clove thought. Both she and Cato were terrifyingly stubborn when it came down to it.

She and Cato spent the mornings bickering as they made breakfast, which often degenerated into finger-pointing over who'd let the eggs burn or the toast smoke. Then they raced one another to the Training Center. Clove was far faster at short distances, but Cato could beat her if she tired early. They'd sprint through the market in the center of the town, disturbing bleary-eyed salespeople and children their same age in the dull gray uniforms of trainees. Then they'd try to outdo each other at training stations, their laughter and squabbling a startling contrast to the grunts and wheezes of trainees hard at work.

Clove had become lighter, more open after the Games, a fact which Cato smugly attributed to himself. The truth was, she'd been so cold, so vicious during the Games that she'd burned through it all. Even though she'd loved killing, craved it, she'd found it exhausting in ways too subtle for her to comprehend. So she was happy with her simple life of sparring and bantering with the one she loved. And if she woke up in the dark of the night, shaking and sobbing from confusion and fear, Cato was always there to hold her, to soothe her back to sleep with a tenderness she hadn't known him to possess.

He got nightmares, too, chilling ones that left him frozen beside her, unable to blink or breathe. After one of those, he wouldn't go back to sleep, just laid awake and watched over her despite her reassurances. He never told her what they were about, and she never asked. Some things were better left unsaid.

Oh, Clove was glad she'd won the Games, that she'd been strong enough, brutal enough to survive. And when the Victors gathered for dinner once a week, she'd join in the conversation with snide comments about the weak who had died and laugh with her former mentors. Brutus seemed to hold a glimmer of respect for her, a hint of awareness that she was someone to be wary of. Enobaria was nothing but pleased with Clove and Cato both, the way they'd handled themselves in the Capitol and the way she knew they would during the Victory Tour.

The other Victors seemed just as approving. Nero, one of the oldest people alive in Two, would smile toothlessly at them both and listen raptly to Cato's stories. He might've been a little senile, but he had lived such a glorious life that he was dignified and honored in his old age, and his approval carried merit. Temperamental Lyme, just as tall as Cato and nearly as muscular, watched them both measuringly, occasionally leaning in to comment quietly to Enobaria. The others- all names and faces she'd known for years but now had context and personalities to pair them with- had accepted Clove and Cato easily into their circle.

They sat in Enobaria's house, lounging against her sedately elegant furnishings. She'd been in the Capitol long enough to have an eye for nice things, and it showed. Clove leaned against Cato's chest on an armchair, his fingers idly playing with her hair as it hung loose for once. It was late, as these little gatherings tended to run, but she wasn't tired. If anything, she grew more attentive the later it got. The Victors tended to get a little loose-lipped with a few drinks, and she wasn't about to deny some gossip.

Enobaria wrapped up the dinner a little while later, claiming she was sure Brutus needed his beauty sleep. The Victors had laughed at that but obediently dispersed. Clove and Cato lingered with an offer to help clear the dishes, one that Enobaria accepted with a glint in her eye.

"It's been a few weeks since the Games," she said without preamble once they were gathered in the kitchen. "What's your strategy?"

"Strategy?" Cato asked, caught off-guard. A plate nearly slipped through his fingers, but he caught it just before it could shatter on the counter.

Clove swatted him with the dishcloth, grinning as he cursed. "Come on, Cato. To stay alive, of course. Surely you know Snow wants us neutralized?" He nodded slowly, and she continued. "But we can't die so soon after the Games. That'll seem suspicious. He'll kill us quietly, perhaps a few years apart, and let the memories of our Games fade."

"Or he might leave you alone, stir up a frenzy about the Quell and hope you'll be forgotten," Enobaria commented, her eyes thoughtful, maybe even hopeful.

Cato snorted. "Not Snow. Haven't you heard the rumors? He likes his poison, but he doesn't like anyone else to stand against him, even the way we did. And we didn't even mean to both survive. I would've killed myself, and I know Clove would have, too. I wasn't hoping for them to stop the Games." He paused, licked his lips a bit nervously. "Maybe if someone else were in charge, we'd be safer."

They exchanged glances at that, quick darting movements assessing the others. "What you speak of is treason," Enobaria finally said, her voice low and carefully neutral.

Clove stiffened, hand casually coming to rest on the blade of a steak knife as she wiped it dry. "Possibly. Or just the nature of politics." Her voice was light, almost idle. Beside her, Cato quietly shifted his weight into a fighting stance.

Enobaria laughed, a cold sound that made them both tense even more. "Relax, you two. Mentorship doesn't end after the Games, you know. I have just as much reason to hate Snow as you do, possibly more." Her strange golden eyes narrowed, apparently remembering something she'd never shared with either of them.

Clove slowly uncoiled, but she still held firmly to the knife. "You're with us, then?" she asked.

"Was there ever any doubt?" Enobaria answered, flashing them both a savage grin. "I want to see the Capitol burn."

Clove placed the knife in a drawer and picked up the next one to dry. Cato, taking his cue from her, began to ease. "You might have to settle for power," she told her. "There isn't much fun in ruling over a broken city, is there?"

Enobaria grinned. "I suppose not," she conceded. "How exactly do you plan to enact this?"

Clove exchanged a quick glance with Cato. "We hadn't discussed it yet," he admitted, relaxing from his stance at Clove's minute nod. "We weren't sure if it would blow over on its own. But we don't think it will, which is why we're asking you for your help."

Enobaria tapped a finger to her chin. "Then come and sit down once you've finished with the dishes, and we can start planning. You're friends with the mayor's son, aren't you, Cato?" At his nod, she grinned. "Very good. We can start from there."

 **[[ And thus begins** ** _Ichor_** **, the sort-of-sequel to** ** _Bellona and Mars._** **If you haven't read** ** _Bellona_** **, the storyline of this is as follows: Cato and Clove won the Games jointly, Snow is upset, and so they're plotting rebellion. Not much to it.** ** _Ichor_** **is already mapped out and spans 20 chapters, which should be written and posted once a week. I am tentatively looking for a beta to help me keep the subplots straight, so PM me if you'd potentially be interested in that. ]]**


	2. Chapter 2

Cato and Clove left Enobaria's house the next morning with a plate full of the kind of wasteful pastries the Capitol so loved. Enobaria never bothered herself with something as domestic as cooking, though she surely had known how to do so before she became wealthy. She'd rolled her eyes and muttered something about ungrateful children when they had stared suspiciously at the pastries and snatched one herself, popping it into her mouth and swallowing with exaggerated care, but she'd seemed a little proud of their alertness.

Clove nibbled on the edge of one of them, a biscuit dotted with dried berries, as she stepped through the door to their house. Her eyes darted around the interior, a habit she still hadn't managed to break in the weeks since the Games had ended. Her suspicions had kept her alive in the arena, but there was hardly any reason to keep them up. Well, perhaps there was more reason than she'd thought.

"Go ahead and get ready. If we leave in a few minutes, we can catch Emil and June before they go to the Training Center," Cato told her. Clove nodded, already peeling off the comfortable sweatshirt she'd worn the night before in place of the kind of fitted training garb the Victors wore outside the privacy of their little village. It wouldn't do to give the District a bad impression of their beloved Victors, Enobaria had told her once, which was why none of them were ever caught looking anything less than presentable, at least until they'd earned that right.

"Why the Training Center?" she asked as she slicked her hair back into a ponytail. "Aren't they both past Reaping age?" June was, she knew, after their little discussion after the Reaping, and surely Cato wouldn't have befriended someone much younger than he was. Then again, Emil was the mayor's son, so perhaps Cato had been more astute than she thought.

Cato was already waiting for her at the door and held it open as she stepped through. "Emil's still eligible, and June's taken a job as one of the trainers. She was the best trainee after you, you know," he told her.

Clove snorted, remembering the sulky girl who'd been on the receiving end of her knife at a lunch so very long ago. "So she told me," she said derisively. "I figured that was just her trying to make herself feel better about losing out to a fifteen-year-old."

Cato shook his head as he fell in step beside her. "No, June was good. Smart, strong, fast. She might've even made it out before you came along." He laughed, shaking his head at her disbelieving face as he wound his fingers through hers. "And now she's still alive without having to go through the Games."

"She owes me," Clove muttered.

"And now we're here to collect." Cato grinned down at her, amused by the way she visibly brightened at his words. "Come on, little sadist. We have places to go and people to meet."

Clove scowled, a familiar challenging glint to her eyes. "This 'little sadist' can leave you in the dust!" She reclaimed her fingers and shoved against him, hard, racing off even as he recovered.

* * *

"Cheater," Cato puffed a few minutes later. Clove beamed unrepentantly at him, batting her eyelashes.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied sweetly, leaning further back onto one of the columns that marked the entrance to the Training Center. "It certainly isn't my fault you stumbled. And fell into that nice market lady's box of fruit. How much did you have to pay, again?"

"That one's coming out of your winnings, pet," Cato told her, a grin winning out over sternness. "Oh, look, there they are."

Clove turned to see Emil and June stroll up, one wearing the drab garments of a trainee, the other wearing the equally-unflattering silhouette of a trainer. They were chatting easily with one another, stopping only when they saw Cato and Clove.

"Emil! June! Come on over here," Cato called. June beamed, the action illuminating her face, and Clove felt a pang of jealousy, but squelched it firmly. _He chose me, anyway_ , she thought somewhat pettily.

"How lovely to see you both again!" June gushed, wrapping Cato in a hug and just slightly hesitating before doing the same to Clove. Behind her, Emil clapped Cato on the back and nodded to Clove. "We haven't had a chance to talk since your Victory celebration. How have you both been doing?"

"Well, thank you," Cato replied for the both of them. "We thought we'd drop in for a chat before training started. There's still half an hour before the Center opens, right?"

June and Emil exchanged a flicker of a glance. "Yes, there is," Emil confirmed. He was just as Clove had remembered him, thin and dark-haired and a nonthreatening kind of attractive, the kind of person who could follow in his father's footsteps as mayor and smile genially at everyone even as he plotted their downfall. It figured he was also Cato's best friend. "Is something the matter?"

"What, I can't just want to see my friends for the first time in weeks?" Cato asked mock-seriously. He twined his fingers with Clove's as they began to move as a group down the road. "Do you still have that ugly cat, June?"

"He is not ugly!" June protested, pouting when the others laughed. A spark of awareness, that same cunning Clove had seen before the Games, flashed in her eyes. "I don't think Clove's ever seen him to judge, though. Why don't we all go over to my house and she can decide for herself?"

* * *

June was rich, even for a trainer. That struck Clove almost immediately as she approached the house, massive by Two standards and carrying a certain refined grace that the houses in the Victors' Village failed to meet. June led them to a lovely table of dark wood in the center of the main room and perched on the edge of a chair. Cato pulled out a chair for Clove, and she shot him a look but complied. "What's this all about, Cato?" June asked softly, shedding any false ignorance she may have had and replacing it with a steely-eyed determination.

Clove let her hand drift below the table and come to rest at the pocket of her jacket, feeling the reassuring outline of a blade beneath the leather. _Just in case._ Cato cleared his throat and began to speak. "It's come to our attention that the Capitol doesn't _appreciate_ the fact that we both won the Games," he said bluntly. "We've been thinking things might be a lot better without them."

"Without the Games, or without the Capitol?" Emil was cold, shrewd, the politician's son in full force. "Both ideas are completely illegal."

Clove felt the corners of her mouth tighten. That sounded almost - no, not almost - that was undeniably a potential threat. "Both," Cato answered. "Surely you hate it too- the way kids even younger than us are made to fight to the death to entertain a bunch of empty-headed, overfed socialites? The way our government leaves everyone to practically starve even as they throw away food? We saw it in the Capitol, you know. Huge banquets of the most lavish kinds of food, and these people vomit it up so they can go back for more."

June's pretty face wasn't quite so pretty when she was sneering, Clove decided. "As children starve in the streets?" she purred silkily, contrary to her suddenly-vicious face. "As people find their growth stunted from lack of nutrition? As people die dozens of years earlier than ever from a host of ailments that can all be traced back to starvation?"

Cato nodded sharply. "They watch us all starve, and they _laugh_. They find it _amusing_ that we have such quaint little struggles, like the people a thousand years ago who had so many children because they knew most of them would die before they grew into adults."

"Why are you telling us this?" Emil asked. "What could we possibly do?" _What would we get from this?_ Clove knew he meant.

Clove leaned forward, the movement causing the others to shift and turn to her, seemingly having forgotten she was there. "Fight with us. Help us take control of the Capitol, and _we'll_ be the ones in power this time. No more Games, no more children dying so a bunch of has-beens can get their thrills. Think of what we could do with all those resources, if we distributed them fairly. The people in the Capitol have so much because we have so little. We can change that."

Emil leaned back in his seat, and she could tell by the concentration in his eyes that he was running a list of scenarios through his head. June spoke in the interim. "What would you need me to do, then?" she asked.

Clove exchanged a glance with Cato. He'd be better at convincing her to do this. Cato nodded minutely and then began to explain the plan they'd developed with Enobaria. "The Head Peacekeeper is stationed in each District for a year and a half each, and he's due in ours after the Victory Tour. He controls all the Peacekeeper forces throughout Panem."

"Oh," June blurted before he could finish talking. A wave of revulsion crossed her face, but was quickly obscured and replaced with careful blankness. "And you want me to seduce him, is that right?"

Cato winced at her bluntness. "We want you to win his support over to our side, or, barring that, send out enough information about their movements that we can plan around that," he told her carefully.

June nodded once, slowly. "I always knew I'd never marry for love," she said, more to herself than anyone else. "But to get this much power from it? Yes."

Cato didn't do anything as obvious as exhale with relief, but the lines of his shoulders relaxed a little. "Thank you, June," he said quietly. "Emil?"

Emil narrowed his eyes. "I want a position of power. Not mayor. Something better."

Cato nodded. "Of course. Our government will require new people to fill most or all of the top positions. We can certainly find a place for you."

"Then I'll do it," Emil responded. "What would you have me do?"

Clove answered that one. "Keep an eye on your father's communications. Give us any information you think we'd like to know, especially about the other Districts."

"In other words, betray my father's trust," Emil said frostily, and Clove again let her hand find the handle of the knife in her jacket. He was silent for a long, tense moment before he sighed. "We all make sacrifices for the cause, I suppose. I'm in."

* * *

 **[A/N: This chapter and the entire outline have been fully beta-read by the lovely A-GIRL-NAMED-BILLY! I highly encourage all of you to check out her stories- I didn't even know she wrote Clatos too until a few days ago, but I've been reading them nonstop ever since I found out. _The Conspiracy_ and _The Combination_ are possibly the most adorable things I've ever read, and there were tears. Oh so many tears. But that's okay, because they're absolutely beautiful and amazing and powerful even when they're not breaking my heart. If you need something to brighten your day and make you emotional at the same time, her stories are the way to go.]**


	3. Chapter 3

"How'd it go?" Enobaria asked, looking rather out of place in the kitchen with an apron tied over her usual training attire. Cato snatched the mixing bowl out of her hands and set it down on the counter.

"Sit down, please, Enobaria. You work hard enough for us already. Let us have this one dinner where you can just relax," he wheedled. She smiled at the practiced charm and took the proffered seat beside Clove.

"That isn't an answer," Enobaria replied, folding her hands on the counter and leaning over to observe the meal Cato was busy with. Lucretia had sent them a list of Capitol-recommended talents a few days prior, and Clove had first seized upon cooking. When he'd seen the first meal she'd made, Cato had commented that it was the most viciously-effective weight loss plan he'd ever seen. Clove had slapped him, but he'd taken up the cooking after that. Clove, to everyone's utter bemusement, had settled on flower arranging.

The stew was close enough to decent that he could tear his attention away from it for a few minutes. Cato stirred slowly as he spoke. "Well enough, I think. They both agreed to do what they can to help us. Emil is going to give us information on the other Districts, and June is going to get the backing of the Head Peacekeeper."

"The one in charge of Two?" Enobaria asked. "How will that help?"

Clove shook her head. "No, the one who's due to come down in a little while, the one who commands all the Head Peacekeepers. He's the Legate, second only to Snow in power. They call him Asiaticus."

"That's a mouthful of a name," Cato commented as he chopped carrots with far more dexterity than Clove had thought he'd possessed. "Can we give him a nickname, since we'll be so close and all?"

"Only if we can give Enobaria one." Clove grinned, leaning against the counter and blinking coquettishly at her mentor. "How about Ria? Ria and Sia, isn't that just lovely?"

Enobaria sneered, but the corners of her mouth were turned up. "I'd thought you'd have a stronger will to live than that," she responded, tickling Clove under the chin and laughing when she recoiled. "I could give you both very cute nicknames, anyway. What do you think of Cat and Clover?"

"Ew." Clove wrinkled her nose as Cato scowled across the counter. "Those are horrible."

"Be nice, Clover," a voice mocked from the entrance. Clove whipped around, reflexes still keen, to see Brutus standing in the doorway.

"Glad you could make it, Brutus," she responded sweetly, settling back in her seat and muttering something foul under her breath. The man laughed and stepped into the kitchen, standing beside Enobaria and folding his arms across his chest.

"You're cooking now, Cato?" Brutus asked, eyeing the apron that was comically small on Cato's massive form.

He glanced up from the stew, smirking. "You don't even want to know what happened when Clove tried to cook. If you look up above the oven, see those marks? She left the casserole in for too long and-"

"Enough already, Cato," Clove interrupted, flushing. "That wasn't even my fault. If you hadn't-"

"-raced in here, smoke filling the room, and there she is, right in the middle of the kitchen, looking downright-"

"-pissed off because you had turned the gas on the highest setting and assured me that it would make the food cook faster-"

"Am I interrupting something here?" a cool voice drawled. Clove stopped mid-shout and swiveled to see Lyme grinning in the doorway, blond hair pulled back rigidly. "I was informed this was a dinner, not a debate about some surely amusing anecdote."

"Nothing of importance," Enobaria answered in place of Clove, who sank her head into her hands. "Come in, Lyme; Cato's almost finished with dinner."

"You cook, Cato? Oh, your talent. I'd forgotten. Well, you've only got ten or so years in which you have to keep it up. The Capitol stops interviewing the Victors as frequently around then. I haven't played the piano in years," Lyme remarked as she moved into the kitchen and peered thoughtfully into the pot.

Enobaria shrugged. "I haven't picked up a paint brush since the last Games, but I'll probably need to start again. They always get so eager to do interviews with the mentors of the tributes who win the Games." She rolled her eyes. "Thanks a lot, you two."

"Sorry," Clove grumbled, dragging out the syllables exaggeratedly. "It's that pesky wanting-to-live thing. I'll try to control it next time." Enobaria laughed, and Clove playfully shoved her.

"Enough of that," Cato said around a smirk. "Just imagine the paperwork if she falls and breaks her neck in our house. I love you, Clove, but not enough to do paperwork on your behalf." She grinned and licked her lips, ready to respond in kind, but he kept talking. "Besides, dinner's ready. Nobody can die before they have some of my food."

They arranged themselves along the deceptively plain table, a beautiful old thing that Cato had forked over a significant sum for before Clove could as much as blink. She'd went with it. It was his money, after all. Clove admired the sleek surface, untouched by knife blades, as they began to eat the food, the rich stew filled with meat and the salad so crisp and clean it practically melted on her tongue. He was a far better cook than she, that was for certain, she mused wryly as she took another sip of some fruity concoction she could only describe as springtime.

The others dug in with similar vigor, even the usually-reserved Enobaria going back for seconds. The frenzy began to slow after that, the lapses filling with conversation. They spoke of inconsequential things at first, Lucretia's new hairstyle (she'd switched from silver to a pale gold, almost blonde, a look that might've been natural if it weren't so unusually bold) and Clove's talent (she'd started to grow flowers all around the house, tiny scraggly things that wilted and drooped on windowsills and in decorative pots) and speculation about the tributes for the Quell (Brutus was of a mind to pick two similarly-bulky trainees, in case this year's twist was no weapons, while Lyme felt someone smaller and fleeter would be better at dodging the traps that were sure to spring up).

Idly, Clove began to hint around at deeper topics. "Speaking of death traps, Cato, we need to clean this house. I swear I saw a snake the other day," she laughed with a fake shudder. "Do you know how to catch a snake, any of you?"

Brutus, at the end of the table, shrugged and took another sip of whatever pungent drink he'd brought with him. "Why would you bother? Just hire an exterminator to come and get rid of it," he answered. "You have the money for it now. I wouldn't waste my time trying to track it down." Clove measured him, gauged his sincerity, and found him completely devoid of awareness of anything deeper. She made eye contact with Cato beside her, just a tiny flicker of a glance broken when he nodded minutely in what was almost disappointment. He'd wanted to recruit his own mentor, the man he'd revered ever since childhood, but he had to acknowledge that Brutus would be a very poor fit for their team if he couldn't detect even heavy hints.

"What about you, Lyme? What would you recommend? Trap it?" Cato asked, turning to face the woman across from him.

Her eyes were just as coolly measuring as Clove's when she responded. "Snakes are tricky, clever creatures. They'll sniff out a trap before it's even laid. You'd need to get a team to corner it before you could kill it." Lyme paused. "I've trapped a few in my lifetime before. If you want my help, all you have to do is ask."

"Thank you, Lyme. We appreciate it," Cato responded. The conversation flowed back to the easy chatter of earlier, and before long, the older Victors had finished their meals, thanked Cato and Clove, and left.

Cato sat on the couch with Clove drawn up close to him, leaning on his chest and curling into his arm as he stroked her hair lightly. "I'm sorry about Brutus," she said after a long pause.

He was silent for a while, and she could feel him sigh. "I am, too," he admitted eventually. "I'd hoped… but that doesn't matter. We have Enobaria and Lyme now."

"And June and Emil," Clove added. She paused. "What do you think about Lucretia?"

She could feel him almost refuse instinctively, hear the rejection bubble to his lips, but he contained himself. "What would she be able to do?" he asked instead.

Clove shrugged, jostling him with the movement. "She's famous, at least for now. Managed to bring two kids home and all. I'm sure she could land a job as a gossip columnist somewhere."

Cato grinned down at her. "Is this the next phase of your plan you wouldn't tell me about earlier?"

She smirked up at him. "Why would I do such a thing?" she asked innocently, batting her eyelashes in a way that made him laugh. "Well, the Victory Tour is in a few days, so Lucretia said she'd come in tomorrow morning to start getting us prepped. We can talk to her then."

"She'll be so upset when she sees what you've done to those poor flowers," Cato told her, nodding at the vase of drooping blooms before them. "Aren't you supposed to get an interview about your talent?"

Clove groaned. "I don't even care right now," she muttered, burying her face in his chest to stifle her laughter. "They can bring in some fake flowers for all I care. I've done everything I can for these stupid things."

"Except water them consistently," Cato observed, catching her hand when she growled and tried to slap him. "I'm surprised you managed to survive your childhood, given how absolutely terrible you are at keeping plants alive."

"Don't be rude," she sniffed, trying without avail to slip her hand from his grasp. "I kept us both alive in the Games, after all."

Cato laughed. "I think I was the one who actually saved your life," he corrected. "I used my sponsors to get you the medicine for your head injury. You wouldn't believe how hard Enobaria and Brutus had to bargain for that to even be allowed at all."

"Brutus bargained for me? I'm almost flattered," Clove deadpanned. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm grateful. I don't think I'd much like dying."

"Then we'd better be successful," Cato murmured, tightening his grip on her. "Because if we're not-"

"We will be. I know it." Her voice was firm, resolute, but she could feel doubt start to coil inside her chest, vaguely uncomfortable and constricting her heart, whispering words of poison. She kissed him to silence it.

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter was betaed by the amazing A-GIRL-NAMED-BILLY, who continues to astound me with her literary skills. Seriously, if you haven't read _The Conspiracy_ and _The Combination_ yet, you're missing out. They're both quite fluffy and lighthearted and her Cato and Clove are absolutely _adorable,_ a very nice contrast to all this dark and plotting.**


	4. Chapter 4

It could only technically be called morning when the doorbell rang vigorously, the cheery tunes jarring Clove from her sleep. She mumbled something unintelligible and rolled on her side. Cato was already awake, tearing away the covers as he climbed out of bed, and she snarled sleepily at him. "Go get dressed, Clove, and I'll get the door. It's probably Lucretia with the prep teams," he told her in a voice far too chipper for this time of day.

Clove grumbled but eventually complied, hauling herself up and stumbling over to the dresser. She had just enough time to pull on a clean shirt and loose black pants when her prep team descended upon her like a plague. They chattered away as they strong-armed her into the shower and began the long and painful process of hair removal.

"Can you believe that in the other Districts, their tributes never shave? Thank goodness you at least have some sense of hygiene," one of them chirped, her skin patterned gold and her eyelashes crimson.

"Oh, Sylvia told me that the other day! It's just horrid, isn't it? Just imagine those poor children with all their ugly District hair!" another replied, eyes lined in a rich blood-red that winged out beyond his cheekbones.

"That sounds so terrible!" Clove exclaimed breathily, eyes wide like she was frightened. "We're very fortunate here in Two to be so close with the Capitol. I simply can't imagine living in a District with no luxuries at all! And, of course, we do have some of the best stylists and prep teams in Panem. It's only natural, of course; the better-behaved Districts get the better teams."

The prep team halted in their babble, looking at her almost quizzically, before seizing upon the newly-talkative Clove. "Oh, yes, some of the other prep teams truly are atrocious! You should hear the kinds of things they've done- they're too sordid to speak of," the first said meaningfully.

"Oh, you must tell me!" Clove gushed. "I can't possibly go without knowing, especially since we're already such good friends!"

The prep team tittered and preened around her. "Well, if you must know, Venia from Twelve always has an affair with the stylist for Twelve. Her last one lasted ten years- isn't that gauche? She has no sense of the proper time limits for these things," the man sniffed.

"I've heard she's trying to get with the latest stylist. You saw his work, didn't you, Clove? Those gorgeous fiery outfits in the parade?" a woman swathed in multicolored bubbles sighed even as she ripped off another piece of tape from Clove's skin. "Such a shame his talent was wasted in Twelve. That girl was not nearly appreciative enough of his help. Did you ever see her without makeup? I was amazed that the boy ever fell in love with her, but I suppose Twelve doesn't really have a surplus of pretty girls." They all laughed at that.

When there was a rare gap in the conversation, Clove changed the subject. "And what do you think about the Quell this year? I'm so excited to find out what the twist is this time!"

"You must be so disappointed to not be able to participate in it! Oh, but you might get to mentor this year!" the gold-printed woman said, oblivious to the sneer that flashed briefly across Clove's face.

"I've heard that the twist involves the selection of the tributes this time," the man added with an air of imparting a great secret. Clove nodded eagerly, inwardly scowling. _Oh, really? As if the past two Quells didn't also change the way tributes were chosen_ , she thought sardonically.

"Is that all, Aelius?" the bubble woman asked, sounding rather dejected. "You usually have the best information about the Games."

Aelius chuckled as he twined locks of Clove's hair around a hot iron. "Ah, Caelina, have I ever disappointed you? No, my dear, that is not all of the story. My sources have told me that despite the unfortunate passing of Head Gamemaker Crane-"

"Wait, did something happen to Seneca?" Clove interrupted. Realizing her mistake when the prep team turned to stare at her, she blushed. "We're so awfully out of the loop here in Two," she confessed apologetically. "I've heard practically nothing in all the time since we got back."

The gold-skinned woman perked up. "Oh, you poor thing! Of course you didn't hear! Well, wouldn't you know, right after the best parties were about to start- I'd just been invited to one at Claudius Templesmith's mansion, can you imagine?- oh, so anyway, Head Gamemaker Crane had just come back from his hair appointment and two hours later, he was dead."

Caelina sniffled while she dabbed powder on Clove's face. "He was my favorite Gamemaker, too!" she sighed. "Do you remember how clever he was when he flooded that arena? And his mutts, oh, I had nightmares for weeks about those wolves that he made for the last Games!"

"We all mourned his passing," the other woman broke in. "He stabbed himself to death, the poor man. Straight through the heart. He left a note saying that he felt inadequate to the task of the Quell."

"Crane was a great man and a greater Gamemaker." There was a moment of reverent silence, then Aetius spoke again. "But back to the news! So like I was saying, after Crane died, my sources managed to uncover the contents of the envelope that holds the twist for this year's Quarter Quell." He paused, smiling smugly.

The red-lashed woman stared wide-eyed at him as she dabbed paint on Clove's lips. "Oh, how exciting! You always do have the best knowledge about these things, Aetius. But what is the twist?"

 _This can't be good_ , Clove thought, her heart starting to race. Victors gained full immunity from being Reaped, she knew that much. But what if that were to change? What would she do if Snow tried to retaliate for her scheme?

Aetius made a show of glancing about the room. "I have heard, Fausta," he murmured furtively, "that the Quell will reap only sibling pairs."

The women gasped, and Clove's relieved sigh was disguised by them. While it was certainly unlikely she and Cato would have had to enter the Games, seeing as there was a multitude of other Victors in Two that would surely be eager to volunteer, she didn't like the sly threat the idea posed.

"That certainly will make for an interesting Games," Clove replied in a steady voice. "Do you know what they put in its place?"

"No other rumors, sorry to say," Aetius sighed. "I suppose we'll all know soon enough, when they officially announce it. And- oh, look how lovely you are now! Let's go fetch Bac!" Clove obediently peeked at her red-lipped self in the handheld mirror before the prep team scurried off.

Bac entered the bathroom a few moments later. The purple swirls were gone from his face, replaced with striations of the same crimson the rest of the prep team sported, and his hair had gone from a bright yellow to more of a metallic gold. The sneering-smile was unmistakable either way as he greeted her. "Hello, Clove. It's good to see you again."

"And you, Bac," Clove responded coolly. "Have you brought more of those dresses I love?"

He raised a bag in answer, and she beamed even as he took out the outfit and slid it over her head. She looked at herself in the mirror when he had finished adjusting her makeup. It was lightweight but still cozy to compensate for the chill in the air, a soft dark green dress and boots over a pair of skin-colored tights. Clove puckered her red lips at her reflection and narrowed her eyes. "I look like a holiday come to life," she grumbled.

"It's all the rage in the Capitol," Bac assured her. "Everyone loves to dress up for the winter parties. Be grateful I didn't make you into a present." Clove rolled her eyes, and he laughed. "Go ahead and get all your irritability out now, before the cameras show up. You do know you have to be all sweet and charming when they interview you, right?"

Before she could snap back another retort, the door crashed open to reveal a rather harried Lucretia. The rumors about her new hairstyle were correct, apparently, and she hadn't limited her newfound taste for gold to her wig. The escort radiated metallic light as she crushed Clove in a hug that was cut abruptly short. "Hello, Clove, no time to waste. Come along, it's time for your interview!" she trilled in grating tones. Clove winced at her accent but allowed the woman to keep her impressively strong grip on her wrist as she pulled Clove out the door and down the hall.

Lucretia hovered in the background as Clove began to read lines from cards, pointless cheery babble about her great love for flowers and her admiration of nature and goodness, aren't these peonies just gorgeous? Contrary to her prediction, the camera crew had only brought live flowers to replace her wilting ones, and she glowered at a particularly full rose when the camera wasn't aimed at her. Roses reminded her of Snow.

Finally she was dismissed so that the crew could film more shots of the flowers, so she wandered into the kitchen. Cato was apparently finished with his as well, and Clove joined him. "My mother and brother are being interviewed in the living room, so I'd stay out of there," he warned her. His brother was already married and lived with his wife, and his mother had chosen to stay in her admittedly-luxurious house rather than move in with Cato and Clove. Clove couldn't say she blamed the woman for her decision to distance herself from them as much as she did. They'd had one dinner together after the Games, and the conversation had been so painfully awkward that there had been a mutual agreement to never repeat the process. Clove had the impression that Cato spent most of his childhood at the Training Center for more than one reason.

Now Lucretia clapped her hands with more zeal than happiness. "All right, everyone! Time to go on outside to film a few shots before we get on the train!"

Clove turned to look at Cato. "I thought the Victory Tour wasn't supposed to start for another couple of days?" she wondered.

Cato rolled his eyes. "Always so aware, Clove. The Tour itself doesn't start for a little while, but we have to travel all the way down to Twelve for their miserable little party. They're in the middle of nowhere, too, which means we have to leave early if we want to have some time to get ready."

"They always have the saddest feasts, don't they?" Clove took Cato's hand in hers and began to tug him toward the anxiously-gesturing Lucretia. "The saddest feasts, and the weakest tributes." He laughed even as she plastered on her sweetest smile, and the filming began.

* * *

Twelve was just as pathetic as they'd cattily predicted. The square was a gritty gray, everything coated in layers of coal dust that made Clove want to choke. Dressed in sapphire blue with gold-lined eyes, she was the only bit of color in the square filled with shuffling, hard-eyed miners. She glanced up at Cato for reassurance and was relieved when he grinned down at her, squeezing her hand. They could do this.

The mayor, a portly man with a kind face, introduced them, and Clove busied herself with looking at the families of the dead tributes stationed on the platforms below. To the left must've been Peeta's family, a rigid woman scowling at her husband and two sons. And to the right was Katniss's. There was a woman, still clinging to vestiges of beauty, but her face was blank, eyes unseeing. She was completely detached from her surroundings. Clutching the woman's hand was a tiny blonde girl, so insubstantial she almost seemed to waver, and Clove realized with a chill that she was Katniss's little sister, the one she'd volunteered for. But this girl wasn't the same wide-eyed child she had been half a year ago. The girl watched Clove unblinkingly, yet there was no malice in her eyes.

Clove was torn away when Cato began to give his memorized part of the speech, and she followed along and concluded it. Then it was time to say their personal comments. Cato spoke honestly about Peeta's courage and integrity, Katniss's strength and skill, and Clove expressed her respect that neither had ever been unscrupulous. Oh, Katniss could easily have killed her when she laid dying in Cato's arms, and Peeta could have slit either one of their throats as they slept. But they were bound by the kind of morals that Careers just didn't bother with.

They accepted their plaques from the mayor and waved at the sullen crowds. Clove caught the eye of the girl again and recoiled at the unfamiliar emotion she projected in her half-smile, resigned eyes. _I don't need your forgiveness, girl_ , she thought savagely, almost bitterly. _You should hate me. I want you to hate me_. But the girl merely dropped her gaze to rub soothingly at her mother's back, and Clove felt hollow. I don't deserve this.

"People from Twelve are strange, aren't they?" Cato murmured in her ear once they were back inside the Justice Building and preparing for the first dinner. She shot him a half-annoyed, half-amused glance, but they were interrupted by a blonde girl in a pretty white dress.

"How lovely to meet you both," the girl said sweetly, dimpling at them. "I'm Madge Undersee, Mayor Undersee's daughter."

Cato shook her hand first, and Clove did the same. Madge's handshake was weak, frail, and shaking her hand was rather like curling her fingers around a bird and hoping it wouldn't break. "Cato Ludwig, a pleasure," he answered. "This is my… This is Clove Fuhrman."

"I've heard so much about you," Madge replied. "Please, come and keep me company. These dinners are dreadfully boring, and I'd love to hear more about your District."

They found themselves ensconced at the end of the table, away from Lucretia and Enobaria and Brutus, who were busy chatting with the mayor and several white-clad Peacekeepers. Madge was quiet but a good listener, and Clove found herself slipping to the edge of revealing information she'd rather not several times. Oh, she was an excellent politician's daughter, pretty and demure and perfect at slipping information out of unsuspecting guests. Clove eyed her appraisingly and was about to go on the offensive when someone staggered up to them.

It was Haymitch Abernathy, sole living Victor of Twelve and clearly drunk half out of his mind. He slung himself into a chair a servant had hastily drawn up and nearly missed, letting one heavy arm drape across Clove's shoulders. Clove stiffened and silently slipped out of his grasp. "Mr. Abernathy. An honor," she addressed him somewhat coolly.

"You're a pretty thing, aren't you?" he slurred. Clove caught Enobaria's eye from across the table, registered her mentor's minute shake of her head. Play along. "You look familiar. Oh, that's right. You went and killed my favorite tribute."

Clove eyed him icily. "And you killed several of the tributes from Two during your Games." Her voice was faultlessly polite as she tried to avoid inhaling his stench.

Haymitch laughed, expelling a cloud of air that made her eyes water and itch, yet somehow he was coherent enough to keep on trying. She should've known there was more to his drunken-mess persona than she'd thought. "You're a feisty one, aren't you? Cold little Career girl with a talent for ruining lives. And her overbulked, deranged lover. What a match you two make. Now, tell me, is there a lot of inbreeding in Two, or do your genetic defects just happen naturally?"

"Haymitch!" a woman with shocking pink hair exclaimed, flushing in shame. "You need to apologize to our guests! I am so, so sorry for his rudeness, Clove and Cato, I have no idea what's gotten into-"

"Shut up, Effie. No one cares." And with far more balance than an intoxicated person should've possessed, he stood and strode out of the room.

Madge smiled nervously at them, at silently seething Cato and rigid, hard-eyed Clove. "Don't mind him," she said apologetically. "He's just upset about losing Katniss and Peeta. She especially was the most likely one to win the Games in over twenty years. That doesn't excuse him, of course, but…"

"Never mind him," Clove cut her off. "What were you saying about strawberries again?" Madge leaped at the lifeline, and by the time they were preparing to board the train again, Clove had secured her telephone number and promised to keep in touch. Gathering allies, even in Twelve, couldn't hurt.

The other Districts were far less dramatic than the first dinner. Eleven made her shiver with their cruel Peacekeepers, so unlike the familiar ones of her own District, but their people were more polite than Twelve. Clove chatted with a Victor named Seeder and tried to avoid Haymitch's friend Chaff. Ten and Nine were bland, with nothing noteworthy in the least. After their almost boring speech in Eight, Clove was relieved to find that Johanna of Seven was of a like mind and an even sharper tongue. Cato looked almost overwhelmed beneath their competing jabs.

Six again was unexciting, as was Five. In Four, Clove found herself reluctantly partnered with Annie Cresta for dinner. The older girl was certainly… off, prone to fits of odd laughter or staring off into space, but she seemed to genuinely like Clove. Cato, who was busy silently posturing against Finnick Odair across the table, laughed later that night when Clove was busy scrubbing the silver makeup from her eyes back on the train. "Only you would befriend the crazies," he said, and she shoved him.

"Why don't you shut up and go make out with Finnick?" she retorted, smirking when he grimaced.

Clove found herself unwillingly impressed in Three. Beetee Latier was smart, and not in the highbrow, snobby way she'd expected. He discussed his latest project with her and she listened raptly, unable to comprehend the mechanics but drawn by the way he explained it. Cato teased her mercilessly about it later, but she threw back in his face that he'd had to converse with the only woman possibly more crazy than Annie.

Two was skipped for the final celebration, and Clove was swathed in a pale, shimmery blue for their speech in the District known for their luxury goods. She appraised slinky, sensuous Cashmere, who seemed to have Glimmer's looks with more brains, and they hit it off immediately. "I think we'll be very good friends," Cashmere told her matter-of-factly before she strode off to speak with Enobaria and Brutus.

And then she was in the Capitol, slathered with shades of plum and lilac and violet and gripping to Cato's arm like that might protect her from the unceasing tides of people that tugged at her sleeves, clung to her words like they were sacred. And they returned to their room and she stared at her reflection in the mirror, her face clean but her skin feeling so dirty. "I hate this," she told him, and he sighed and moved to stand behind her.

"We'll change it all," he vowed. "We'll burn their luxurious existences and replace them with liberty."

"Not equality," she observed, gazing at the exorbitant silks of her gown and wondering how much someone desperate for a status symbol would pay for it. Too much, she thought.

He kissed the side of her face. "Equality is for fools. We have to look out for our own. But that doesn't mean we neglect the rest of the world when we take over."

"I think I'd rather like corruption, when it's working in our favor," she mused.

He began to methodically pull out the pins from her hair, sending locks of it tumbling onto her shoulders. "Then you will be the queen and I the king, and together, we'll rule the world."

* * *

 **A/N: Punctuality issues are mine. Keep an eye out for my wonderful beta A-GIRL-NAMED-BILLY 's works- she's planning a _Clato and puppies_ drabble series. My heart just might explode from the cuteness.**


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